


Silence

by for_the_love_of_wolves



Series: Whumptober 2020 [12]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eichen | Echo House, Hallucinations, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Post Season 4, Rescue, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sensory Deprivation, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27182785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_the_love_of_wolves/pseuds/for_the_love_of_wolves
Summary: "Peter is well familiar with insanity. Since it came to him after the fire and accompanied him for six years, he knows exactly how it starts and how it ends.When it finds him in the cell at Eichen House and knocks at the door of his mind again, he doesn’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse. Maybe both."~Peter is going insane in a soundproof cell at Eichen House. Rescue is a loud surprise.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Whumptober 2020 [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949101
Comments: 10
Kudos: 247
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Whumptober Day 25: Sensory Deprivation

Peter is well familiar with insanity. Since it came to him after the fire and accompanied him for six years, he knows exactly how it starts and how it ends. 

When it finds him in the cell at Eichen House and knocks at the door of his mind again, he doesn’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse. Maybe both.

Eichen House is indifferent. So at least this time, he’s left alone. He's not touched by strangers. The only time he sees anyone is when they decide to feed him. They do it at irregular times, so he can’t develop a sense of time. Since there is no window in the cell, he also can’t know if it is night or day. 

He could have spent months here. Or years. But he thinks it’s only been a few weeks. Or is it? After all, he finds he doesn’t care. 

It’s all pointless. 

Scott probably thinks he did something merciful, but he couldn’t have been more cruel. Peter knows death. At least, it’s finite and peaceful. It’s not like this. It’s not being left alone with memories, thoughts and nightmares for the rest of your life. If their goal was to make him suffer, they reached it.

The worst thing is, that the cell is completely soundproof. He can’t hear a thing from outside. Can’t hear anything but his own breaths. He sometimes tries hard to hear anything else. But he can’t. 

The silence wraps around him like a heavy coat, making everything he hears inside his head louder. With every passing moment, it deafens him more. He feels like he is walking underwater.

One time, he can’t stand it anymore and screams. He screams himself sore. Of course, it doesn’t change anything. It just makes breathing more painful. The one thing he can't stop doing.

Another time, he leans against the glass and slams his head against it. Once. Twice. The thuds are unbearably loud so he stops that too. That doesn’t change anything either. 

Sometimes, he finds himself sitting on the cold tiles and staring at his claws, wondering if he could do enough damage with them. But he’s too tired to try. 

He starts to hallucinate, like he did back then. It’s Talia, again. She stares at him, ash in her hair and burns marking her skin red, matching her eyes. She looks disappointed. She always does. And she has every right to. 

He couldn’t save her. Couldn’t protect his family. He failed as Left Hand and he failed now, when he was supposed to make his family’s territory safe again. He’s nothing but a failure. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, his own hoarse voice echoing in his ears. “I’m sorry …” 

Talia doesn’t say anything. His hallucinations never talk. She disappears eventually, just fading away. 

After her last visit, Peter has a sudden realization he never wanted to have. He realises he destroyed everything. He destroyed the few good things he had in his new life. And it was for nothing. He could have built something good instead of yearning for something that aquired shattering something else. Derek started to talk to him again, to behave like pack again - Peter destroyed it. Stiles ... He had something good going on with Stiles - he destroyed it. He destroyed every little chance of happiness. And it _hurts_.

After a long while of complete apathy that follows his painful realiziation, Peter has a last violent fit of rage. Since he has nothing to throw, he slams himself against the glass, clawing at his face and pulling at his hair, just to feel something. The wounds heal of course. His body refuses to give up. 

But Peter’s mind is another thing. It decides it has enough.

When the orderlies bring food and water the next time, Peter doesn’t touch it. He lays on the bed and doesn’t move again. He stares up at the ceiling and tries to stop thinking all together.

Time passes. 

Peter doesn’t know how much. Enough for his stomach to stop hurting because of the emptiness.

Time passes, and suddenly, the glass breaks. It just breaks. The noise is sudden and too loud and Peter flinches violently, pressing his hands on his poor aching ears. 

He closes his eyes and whimpers when steps approach, every single one sounding like a bomb going off too close to him. 

Someone is saying his name. Peter knows that voice. But ... It can't be. Still. He has to check. Just to be sure. He carefully opens his eyes and gasps in surprise when he sees who is staring down at him. 

It’s Stiles. 

“Peter?” he says again, his voice finally less loud, when Peter’s ears start to get used to sounds again. “You have to get up for me. We don’t have much time.” 

“What …” Peter croaks. He doesn’t understand. 

Stiles grips his hand and pulls impatiently. “I’m getting you out. We’ll talk later. Come on.” 

Dizzy with confusion and dehydration, Peter gets up and almost falls. His legs buckle beneath him and the world sways. Stiles catches him and steadies him with a grunt. He curses under his breath and drags Peter out of the cell. They step on shards and the glass scrunches under their feet. Peter is barefooted and he can feel the pricks, the pain clearing his head a bit. 

Stiles’ face is determined. When they turn around a corner, someone is suddenly standing right in front of them. Stiles raises his hand. The Someone freezes and collapses like a puppet with cut strings. Peter stares, now not sure if he’s dreaming. Or hallucinating. But … Stiles is talking. His hallucinations never talk. So, it might be real. Huh.

Stiles pulls and they walk on. 

Peter doesn’t know exactly how, but eventually, they’re outside. It’s overwhelming. Noises and scents everywhere, assaulting his starved senses. He almost hyperventilates and Stiles tells him to calm down, his hand tightening around Peter’s hand. Peter focuses on that hand, on that grounding touch. 

They reach Stiles’ jeep and Peter is pushed inside firmly, laying down on the backseat, breathing heavily. He’s shivering although it isn’t cold. 

Stiles starts the motor. 

“What are you?” Peter breathes after a while. 

Stiles glances into the rearview mirror. His eyes are hard. “I don’t know. It just happened. I hoped you could help me figure it out.” 

“Why … why …” Peter coughs and grimaces. His throat is too dry. 

Stiles hands him a bottle of water and Peter drinks greedily. “Why I got you out?" Stiles asks, "I … had to. I couldn’t stand the thought of you, all alone in that cell. Alone with your mind, like ... you know. Like back then. You’re an idiot, a massive asshole, and I didn’t forgive you for fooling everyone, for fooling me, but … you don't deserve to rot like that and I can't deny forever that I fucking missed you.” Stiles pauses for a moment. When he talks again, his voice sounds strained. “Just … tell me, did it mean anything to you?” 

Peter knows what he means. “It did,” he says quickly, his heart aching. “It did. It _does_. But I’m an idiot. Just like you said.” 

Stiles exhales heavily. “Well. I’m an idiot too, obviously,” he murmurs, shaking his head. 

For a long moment, there is silence. 

Peter breathes in Stiles’ wonderful scent and he almost wishes this was a dream, because he can barely stand the fact that Stiles came back for him. After everything that happened … It’s too much. It’s more than he deserves. 

“I’m too broken,” he tells Stiles, his eyes fluttering shut. It’s too exhausting to keep them open. “You shouldn’t bother with me. I’m just a failure.” 

“Shut up,” Stiles says, not unkindly. His eyes briefly flare purple. Peter’s breath hitches. His last coherent thought before he passes out is, _I think I know what you are. And God, you’re marvelous. Too good to be true._

_Too good for me._


End file.
